CHAPTER III

WINTER MONTHS

The month of March opened with a severe north-easterly gale. Five Weddells
and two crab-eaters were shot on the floe during the morning of March 1,
and the wind, with fine drifting snow, sprang up while the carcasses were
being brought in by sledging parties. The men were compelled to abandon
some of the blubber and meat, and they had a struggle to get back to the
ship over the rough ice in the teeth of the storm. This gale continued
until the 3rd, and all hands were employed clearing out the 'tween
decks, which was to be converted into a living- and dining-room for
officers and scientists. The carpenter erected in this room the stove that
had been intended for use in the shore hut, and the quarters were made
very snug. The dogs appeared indifferent to the blizzard. They emerged
occasionally from the drift to shake themselves and bark, but were content
most of the time to lie, curled into tight balls, under the snow. One of
the old dogs, Saint, died on the night of the 2nd, and the doctors
reported that the cause of death was appendicitis.

When the gale cleared we found that the pack had been driven in from
the north-east and was now more firmly consolidated than before. A new
berg, probably fifteen miles in length, had appeared on the northern
horizon. The bergs within our circle of vision had all become familiar
objects, and we had names for some of them. Apparently they were all
drifting with the pack. The sighting of a new berg was of more than
passing interest, since in that comparatively shallow sea it would be
possible for a big berg to become stranded. Then the island of ice would
be a centre of tremendous pressure and disturbance amid the drifting pack.
We had seen something already of the smashing effect of a contest between
berg and floe, and had no wish to have the helpless Endurance
involved in such a battle of giants. During the 3rd the seal meat and
blubber was re-stowed on hummocks around the ship. The frozen masses had
been sinking into the floe. Ice, though hard and solid to the touch, is
never firm against heavy weights. An article left on the floe for any
length of time is likely to sink into the surface-ice. Then the salt water
will percolate through and the article will become frozen into the body of
the floe.

Clear weather followed the gale, and we had a series of mock suns and
parhelia. Minus temperatures were the rule, 21° below zero Fahr. being
recorded on the 6th. We made mattresses for the dogs by stuffing sacks
with straw and rubbish, and most of the animals were glad to receive this
furnishing in their kennels. Some of them had suffered through the snow
melting with the heat of their bodies and then freezing solid. The
scientific members of the expedition were all busy by this time. The
meteorologist had got his recording station, containing anemometer,
barograph, and thermograph, rigged over the stern. The geologist was
making the best of what to him was an unhappy situation; but was not
altogether without material. The pebbles found in the penguins were often
of considerable interest, and some fragments of rock were brought up from
the sea floor with the sounding-lead and the drag-net. On the 7th Wordie
and Worsley found some small pebbles, a piece of moss, a perfect bivalve
shell, and some dust on a berg fragment, and brought their treasure-trove
proudly to the ship. Clark was using the drag-net frequently in the leads
and secured good hauls of plankton, with occasional specimens of
greater scientific interest. Seals were not plentiful, but our store of
meat and blubber grew gradually. All hands ate seal meat with relish and
would not have cared to become dependent on the ship's tinned meat. We
preferred the crab-eater to the Weddell, which is a very sluggish beast.
The crab-eater seemed cleaner and healthier. The killer-whales were still
with us. On the 8th we examined a spot where the floe-ice had been smashed
up by a blow from beneath, delivered presumably by a large whale in search
of a breathing-place. The force that had been exercised was astonishing.
Slabs of ice 3 ft. thick, and weighing tons, had been tented upwards over
a circular area with a diameter of about 25 ft., and cracks radiated
outwards for more than 20 ft.

The quarters in the 'tween decks were completed by the 10th, and the
men took possession of the cubicles that had been built. The largest
cubicle contained Macklin, McIlroy, Hurley, and Hussey and it was named
"The Billabong." Clark and Wordie lived opposite in a room called
"Auld Reekie." Next came the abode of "The Nuts" or engineers,
followed by "The Sailors' Rest," inhabited by Cheetham and McNeish.
"The Anchorage" and "The Fumarole" were on the other side. The new
quarters became known as "The Ritz," and meals were served there
instead of in the ward room. Breakfast was at 9 a.m., lunch at 1 p.m., tea
at 4 p.m., and dinner at 6 p.m. Wild, Marston, Crean, and Worsley
established themselves in cubicles in the wardroom, and by the middle of
the month all hands had settled down to the winter routine. I lived alone
aft.

Worsley, Hurley, and Wordie made a journey to a big berg, called by us
the Rampart Berg, on the 11th. The distance out was 7½ miles, and the
party covered a total distance of about 17 miles. Hurley took some
photographs and Wordie came back rejoicing with a little dust and some
moss.

"Within a radius of one mile round the berg there is thin young ice,
strong enough to march over with care," wrote Worsley. "The area of
dangerous pressure, as regards a ship, does not seem to extend for more
than a quarter of a mile from the berg. Here there are cracks and constant
slight movement, which becomes exciting to the traveller when he feels a
piece of ice gradually upending beneath his feet. Close to the berg the
pressure makes all sorts of quaint noises. We heard tapping as from a
hammer, grunts, groans and squeaks, electric trams running, birds singing,
kettles boiling noisily, and an occasional swish as a large piece of ice,
released from pressure, suddenly jumped or turned over. We noticed all
sorts of quaint effects, such as huge bubbles or domes of ice, 40 ft.
across and 4 or 5 ft. high. Large sinuous pancake-sheets were spread over
the floe in places, and in one spot we counted five such sheets, each
about 2½ in. thick, imbricated under one another. They look as though
made of barley-sugar and are very slippery."

The noon position on the 14th was lat. 76° 54΄ S., long. 36° 10΄ W.
The land was visible faintly to the south-east, distant about 36 miles. A
few small leads could be seen from the ship, but the ice was firm in our
neighbourhood. The drift of the Endurance was still towards the
north-west.

I had the boilers blown down on the 15th, and the consumption of 2 cwt.
of coal per day to keep the boilers from freezing then ceased. The bunkers
still contained 52 tons of coal, and the daily consumption in the stoves
was about 2½ cwt. There would not be much coal left for steaming purposes
in the spring, but I anticipated eking out the supply with blubber. A
moderate gale from the north-east on the 17th brought fine, penetrating
snow. The weather cleared in the evening, and a beautiful crimson sunset
held our eyes. At the same time the ice-cliffs of the land were thrown up
in the sky by mirage, with an apparent reflection in open water, though
the land itself could not be seen definitely. The effect was repeated in
an exaggerated form on the following day, when the ice-cliffs were thrown
up above the horizon in double and treble parallel lines, some inverted.
The mirage was due probably to lanes of open water near the land. The
water would be about 30° warmer than the air and would cause warmed
strata to ascend. A sounding gave 606 fathoms, with a bottom of glacial
mud. Six days later, on the 24th, the depth was 419 fathoms. We were
drifting steadily, and the constant movement, coupled with the appearance
of lanes near the land, convinced me that we must stay by the ship till
she got clear. I had considered the possibility of making a landing across
the ice in the spring, but the hazards of such an undertaking would be too
great.

The training of the dogs in sledge teams was making progress. The
orders used by the drivers were "Mush" (Go on), "Gee" (Right),
"Haw" (Left), and "Whoa" (Stop). These are the words that the
Canadian drivers long ago adopted, borrowing them originally from England.
There were many fights at first, until the dogs learned their positions
and their duties, but as days passed drivers and teams became efficient.
Each team had its leader, and efficiency depended largely on the
willingness and ability of this dog to punish skulking and disobedience.
We learned not to interfere unless the disciplinary measures threatened to
have a fatal termination. The drivers could sit on the sledge and jog
along at ease if they chose. But the prevailing minus temperatures made
riding unpopular, and the men preferred usually to run or walk alongside
the teams. We were still losing dogs through sickness, due to stomach and
intestinal worms.

Dredging for specimens at various depths was one of the duties during
these days. The dredge and several hundred fathoms of wire line made a
heavy load, far beyond the unaided strength of the scientists. On the
23rd, for example, we put down a 2 ft. dredge and 650 fathoms of wire. The
dredge was hove in four hours later and brought much glacial mud, several
pebbles and rock fragments, three sponges, some worms, brachiapods,
and foraminiferae. The mud was troublesome. It was heavy to lift,
and as it froze rapidly when brought to the surface, the recovery of the
specimens embedded in it was difficult. A haul made on the 26th brought a
prize for the geologist in the form of a lump of sandstone weighing 75
lbs., a piece of fossiliferous limestone, a fragment of striated shale,
sandstone-grit, and some pebbles. Hauling in the dredge by hand was severe
work, and on the 24th we used the Girling tractor-motor, which brought in
500 fathoms of line in thirty minutes, including stops. One stop was due
to water having run over the friction gear and frozen. It was a day or two
later that we heard a great yell from the floe and found Clark dancing
about and shouting Scottish war-cries. He had secured his first complete
specimen of an Antarctic fish, apparently a new species.

Mirages were frequent. Barrier-cliffs appeared all around us on the
29th, even in places where we knew there was deep water.

"Bergs and pack are thrown up in the sky and distorted into the most
fantastic shapes. They climb, trembling, upwards, spreading out into long
lines at different levels, then contract and fall down, leaving nothing
but an uncertain, wavering smudge which comes and goes. Presently the
smudge swells and grows, taking shape until it presents the perfect
inverted reflection of a berg on the horizon, the shadow hovering over the
substance. More smudges appear at different points on the horizon. These
spread out into long lines till they meet, and we are girdled by lines of
shining snow-cliffs, laved at their bases by waters of illusion in which
they appear to be faithfully reflected. So the shadows come and go
silently, melting away finally as the sun declines to the west. We seem to
be drifting helplessly in a strange world of unreality. It is reassuring
to feel the ship beneath one's feet and to look down at the familiar
line of kennels and igloos on the solid floe."

The floe was not so solid as it appeared. We had reminders occasionally
that the greedy sea was very close, and that the floe was but a
treacherous friend, which might open suddenly beneath us. Towards the end
of the month I had our store of seal meat and blubber brought aboard. The
depth as recorded by a sounding on the last day of March was 256 fathoms.
The continuous shoaling from 606 fathoms in a drift of 39 miles N. 26° W.
in thirty days was interesting. The sea shoaled as we went north, either
to east or to west, and the fact suggested that the contour-lines ran east
and west, roughly. Our total drift between January 19, when the ship was
frozen in, and March 31, a period of seventy-one days, had been 95 miles
in a N. 80° W. direction. The icebergs around us had not changed their
relative positions.

The sun sank lower in the sky, the temperatures became lower, and the Endurance
felt the grip of the icy hand of winter. Two north-easterly gales in the
early part of April assisted to consolidate the pack. The young ice was
thickening rapidly, and though leads were visible occasionally from the
ship, no opening of a considerable size appeared in our neighbourhood. In
the early morning of April 1 we listened again for the wireless signals
from Port Stanley. The crew had lashed three 20-ft. rickers to the
mast-heads in order to increase the spread of our aerials, but still we
failed to hear anything. The rickers had to come down subsequently, since
we found that the gear could not carry the accumulating weight of rime.
Soundings proved that the sea continued to shoal as the Endurance
drifted to the north-west. The depth on April 2 was 262 fathoms, with a
bottom of glacial mud. Four weeks later a sounding gave 172 fathoms. The
presence of grit in the bottom samples towards the end of the month
suggested that we were approaching land again.

The month was not uneventful. During the night of the 3rd we heard the
ice grinding to the eastward, and in the morning we saw that young ice was
rafted 8 to 10 ft. high in places. This was the first murmur of the danger
that was to reach menacing proportions in later months. The ice was heard
grinding and creaking during the 4th and the ship vibrated slightly. The
movement of the floe was sufficiently pronounced to interfere with the
magnetic work. I gave orders that accumulations of snow, ice, and rubbish
alongside the Endurance should be shovelled away, so that in case
of pressure there would be no weight against the topsides to check the
ship rising above the ice. All hands were busy with pick and shovel during
the day, and moved many tons of material. Again, on the 9th, there were
signs of pressure. Young ice was piled up to a height of 11 ft. astern of
the ship, and the old floe was cracked in places. The movement was not
serious, but I realized that it might be the beginning of trouble for the
Expedition. We brought certain stores aboard and provided space on deck
for the dogs in case they had to be removed from the floe at short notice.
We had run a 500-fathom steel wire round the ship, snow-huts, and kennels,
with a loop out to the lead ahead, where the dredge was used. This wire
was supported on ice-pillars, and it served as a guide in bad weather when
the view was obscured by driving snow and a man might have lost himself
altogether. I had this wire cut in five places, since otherwise it might
have been dragged across our section of the floe with damaging effect in
the event of the ice splitting suddenly.

The dogs had been divided into six teams of nine dogs each. Wild,
Crean, Macklin, McIlroy, Marston, and Hurley each had charge of a team,
and were fully responsible for the exercising, training, and feeding of
their own dogs. They called in one of the surgeons when an animal was
sick. We were still losing some dogs through worms, and it was unfortunate
that the doctors had not the proper remedies. Worm-powders were to have
been provided by the expert Canadian dog-driver I had engaged before
sailing for the south, and when this man did not join the Expedition the
matter was overlooked. We had fifty-four dogs and eight pups early in
April, but several were ailing, and the number of mature dogs was reduced
to fifty by the end of the month. Our store of seal meat amounted now to
about 5000 lbs., and I calculated that we had enough meat and blubber to
feed the dogs for ninety days without trenching upon the sledging rations.
The teams were working well, often with heavy loads. The biggest dog was
Hercules, who tipped the beam at 86 lbs. Samson was 11 lbs. lighter, but
he justified his name one day by starting off at a smart pace with a
sledge carrying 200 lbs. of blubber and a driver.

A new berg that was going to give us some cause for anxiety made its
appearance on the 14th. It was a big berg, and we noticed as it lay on the
north-west horizon that it had a hummocky, crevassed appearance at the
east end. During the day this berg increased its apparent altitude and
changed its bearing slightly. Evidently it was aground and was holding its
position against the drifting pack. A sounding at 11 a.m. gave 197
fathoms, with a hard stony or rocky bottom. During the next twenty-four
hours the Endurance moved steadily towards the crevassed berg,
which doubled its altitude in that time. We could see from the mast-head
that the pack was piling and rafting against the mass of ice, and it was
easy to imagine what would be the fate of the ship if she entered the area
of disturbance. She would be crushed like an egg-shell amid the shattering
masses.

Worsley was in the crow's-nest on the evening of the 15th, watching
for signs of land to the westward, and he reported an interesting
phenomenon. The sun set amid a glow of prismatic colours on a line of
clouds just above the horizon. A minute later Worsley saw a golden glow,
which expanded as he watched it, and presently the sun appeared again and
rose a semi-diameter clear above the western horizon. He hailed Crean, who
from a position on the floe 90 ft. below the crow's-nest also saw the
re-born sun. A quarter of an hour later from the deck Worsley saw the sun
set a second time. This strange phenomenon was due to mirage or
refraction. We attributed it to an ice-crack to the westward, where the
band of open water had heated a stratum of air.

The drift of the pack was not constant, and during the succeeding days
the crevassed berg alternately advanced and receded as the Endurance
moved with the floe. On Sunday, April 18, it was only seven miles distant
from the ship.

"It is a large berg, about three-quarters of a mile long on the side
presented to us and probably well over 200 ft. high. It is heavily
crevassed, as though it once formed the serac portion of a glacier. Two
specially wide and deep chasms across it from south-east to north-west
give it the appearance of having broken its back on the shoal-ground. Huge
masses of pressure-ice are piled against its cliffs to a height of about
60 ft., showing the stupendous force that is being brought to bear upon it
by the drifting pack. The berg must be very firmly aground. We swing the
arrow on the current-meter frequently and watch with keen attention to see
where it will come to rest. Will it point straight for the berg, showing
that our drift is in that direction? It swings slowly round. It points to
the north-east end of the berg, then shifts slowly to the centre and seems
to stop; but it moves again and swings 20 degrees clear of our enemy to
the south-west. . . . We notice that two familiar bergs,
the Rampart Berg and the Peak Berg, have moved away from the ship.
Probably they also have grounded or dragged on the shoal."

A strong drift to the westward during the night of the 18th relieved
our anxiety by carrying the Endurance to the lee of the crevassed
berg, which passed out of our range of vision before the end of the month.

We said good-bye to the sun on May 1 and entered the period of twilight
that would be followed by the darkness of midwinter. The sun by the aid of
refraction just cleared the horizon at noon and set shortly before 2 p.m.
A fine aurora in the evening was dimmed by the full moon, which had risen
on April 27 and would not set again until May 6. The disappearance of the
sun is apt to be a depressing event in the polar regions, where the long
months of darkness involve mental as well as physical strain. But the Endurance's
company refused to abandon their customary cheerfulness, and a concert in
the evening made the Ritz a scene of noisy merriment, in strange contrast
with the cold, silent world that lay outside. "One feels our
helplessness as the long winter night closes upon us. By this time, if
fortune had smiled upon the Expedition, we would have been comfortably and
securely established in a shore base, with depots laid to the south and
plans made for the long march in the spring and summer. Where will we make
a landing now? It is not easy to forecast the future. The ice may open in
the spring, but by that time we will be far to the north-west. I do not
think we shall be able to work back to Vahsel Bay. There are possible
landing-places on the western coast of the Weddell Sea, but can we reach
any suitable spot early enough to attempt the overland journey next year?
Time alone will tell. I do not think any member of the Expedition is
disheartened by our disappointment. All hands are cheery and busy, and
will do their best when the time for action comes. In the meantime we must
wait."

The ship's position on Sunday, May 2, was lat. 75° 23΄ S., long. 42°
14΄ W. The temperature at noon was 5° below zero Fahr., and the sky was
overcast. A seal was sighted from the mast-head at lunch-time, and five
men, with two dog teams, set off after the prize. They had an
uncomfortable journey outward in the dim, diffused light, which cast no
shadows and so gave no warning of irregularities in the white surface. It
is a strange sensation to be running along on apparently smooth snow and
to fall suddenly into an unseen hollow, or bump against a ridge.

"After going out three miles to the eastward," wrote Worsley in
describing this seal-hunt, "we range up and down but find nothing, until
from a hummock I fancy I see something apparently a mile away, but
probably little more than half that distance. I ran for it, found the
seal, and with a shout brought up the others at the double. The seal was a
big Weddell, over 10 ft. long and weighing more than 800 lbs. But Soldier,
one of the team leaders, went for its throat without a moment's
hesitation, and we had to beat off the dogs before we could shoot the
seal. We caught five or six gallons of blood in a tin for the dogs, and
let the teams have a drink of fresh blood from the seal. The light was
worse than ever on our return, and we arrived back in the dark. Sir Ernest
met us with a lantern and guided us into the lead astern and thence to the
ship."

This was the first seal we had secured since March 19, and the meat and
blubber made a welcome addition to the stores.

Three emperor penguins made their appearance in a lead west of the ship
on May 3. They pushed their heads through the young ice while two of the
men were standing by the lead. The men imitated the emperor's call and
walked slowly, penguin fashion, away from the lead. The birds in
succession made a magnificent leap 3 ft. clear from the water on to the
young ice. Thence they tobogganed to the bank and followed the men away
from the lead. Their retreat was soon cut off by a line of men.

"We walk up to them, talking loudly and assuming a threatening
aspect. Notwithstanding our bad manners, the three birds turn towards us,
bowing ceremoniously. Then, after a closer inspection, they conclude that
we are undesirable acquaintances and make off across the floe. We head
them off and finally shepherd them close to the ship, where the frenzied
barking of the dogs so frightens them that they make a determined effort
to break through the line. We seize them. One bird of philosophic mien
goes quietly, led by one flipper. The others show fight, but all are
imprisoned in an igloo for the night. . . . In the
afternoon we see five emperors in the western lead and capture one. Kerr
and Cheetham fight a valiant action with two large birds. Kerr rushes at
one, seizes it, and is promptly knocked down by the angered penguin, which
jumps on his chest before retiring. Cheetham comes to Kerr's assistance;
and between them they seize another penguin, bind his bill and lead him,
muttering muffled protests, to the ship like an inebriated old man between
two policemen. He weighs 85 lbs., or 5 lbs. less than the heaviest emperor
captured previously. Kerr and Cheetham insist that he is nothing to the
big fellow who escaped them."

This penguin's stomach proved to be filled with freshly caught fish
up to 10 in. long. Some of the fish were of a coastal or littoral variety.
Two more emperors were captured on the following day, and, while Wordie
was leading one of them towards the ship, Wild came along with his team.
The dogs, uncontrollable in a moment, made a frantic rush for the bird,
and were almost upon him when their harness caught upon an ice-pylon,
which they had tried to pass on both sides at once. The result was a
seething tangle of dogs, traces, and men, and an overturned sled, while
the penguin, three yards away, nonchalantly and indifferently surveyed the
disturbance. He had never seen anything of the kind before and had no idea
at all that the strange disorder might concern him. Several cracks had
opened in the neighbourhood of the ship, and the emperor penguins, fat and
glossy of plumage, were appearing in considerable numbers. We secured nine
of them on May 6, an important addition to our supply of fresh food.

The sun, which had made "positively his last appearance" seven days
earlier, surprised us by lifting more than half its disk above the horizon
on May 8. A glow on the northern horizon resolved itself into the sun at
11 a.m. that day. A quarter of an hour later the unseasonable visitor
disappeared again, only to rise again at 11.40 a.m., set at 1 p.m., rise
at 1.10 p.m., and set lingeringly at 1.20 p.m. These curious phenomena
were due to refraction, which amounted to 2° 37΄ at 1.20 p.m. The
temperature was 15° below zero Fahr. and we calculated that the
refraction was 2° above normal. In other words, the sun was visible 120
miles farther south than the refraction tables gave it any right to be.
The navigating officer naturally was aggrieved. He had informed all hands
on May 1 that they would not see the sun again for seventy days, and now
had to endure the jeers of friends who affected to believe that his
observations were inaccurate by a few degrees.

The Endurance was drifting north-north-east under the influence
of a succession of westerly and south-westerly breezes. The ship's head,
at the same time, swung gradually to the left, indicating that the floe in
which she was held was turning. During the night of the 14th a very
pronounced swing occurred, and when daylight came at noon on the 15th we
observed a large lead running from the north-west horizon towards the ship
till it struck the western lead, circling ahead of the ship, then
continuing to the south-south-east. A lead astern connected with this new
lead on either side of the Endurance, thus separating our floe
completely from the main body of the pack. A blizzard from the south-east
swept down during the 16th. At 1 p.m. the blizzard lulled for five
minutes; then the wind jumped round to the opposite quarter and the
barometer rose suddenly. The centre of a cyclonic movement had passed over
us, and the compass recorded an extraordinarily rapid swing of the floe. I
could see nothing through the mist and snow, and I thought it possible
that a magnetic storm or a patch of local magnetic attraction had caused
the compass, and not the floe, to swing, Our floe was now about 2½ miles
long north and south and 3 miles wide east and west.

The month of May passed with few incidents of importance. Hurley, our
handy man, installed our small electric-lighting plant and placed lights
for occasional use in the observatory, the meteorological station, and
various other points. We could not afford to use the electric lamps
freely. Hurley also rigged two powerful lights on poles projecting from
the ship to port and starboard. These lamps would illuminate the
"dogloos" brilliantly on the darkest winter's day and would be
invaluable in the event of the floe breaking during the dark days of
winter. We could imagine what it would mean to get fifty dogs aboard
without lights while the floe was breaking and rafting under our feet. May
24, Empire Day, was celebrated with the singing of patriotic songs in the
Ritz, where all hands joined in wishing a speedy victory for the British
arms. We could not know how the war was progressing, but we hoped that the
Germans had already been driven from France and that the Russian armies
had put the seal on the Allies' success. The war was a constant subject
of discussion aboard the Endurance, and many campaigns were fought
on the map during the long months of drifting. The moon in the latter part
of May was sweeping continuously through our starlit sky in great high
circles. The weather generally was good, with constant minus temperatures.
The log on May 27 recorded:

"Brilliantly fine clear weather with bright moonlight throughout. The
moon's rays are wonderfully strong, making midnight seem as light as an
ordinary overcast midday in temperate climes. The great clearness of the
atmosphere probably accounts for our having eight hours of twilight with a
beautiful soft golden glow to the northward. A little rime and glazed
frost are found aloft. The temperature is 20° Fahr. A few wisps of
cirrus-cloud are seen and a little frost-smoke shows in one or two
directions, but the cracks and leads near the ship appear to have frozen
over again."

Crean had started to take the pups out for runs, and it was very
amusing to see them with their rolling canter just managing to keep
abreast by the sledge and occasionally cocking an eye with an appealing
look in the hope of being taken aboard for a ride. As an addition to their
foster-father, Crean, the pups had adopted Amundsen. They tyrannized over
him most unmercifully. It was a common sight to see him, the biggest dog
in the pack, sitting out in the cold with an air of philosophic
resignation while a corpulent pup occupied the entrance to his "dogloo."
The intruder was generally the pup Nelson, who just showed his forepaws
and face, and one was fairly sure to find Nelly, Roger, and Toby coiled up
comfortably behind him. At hoosh-time Crean had to stand by Amundsen's
food, since otherwise the pups would eat the big dog's ration while he
stood back to give them fair play. Sometimes their consciences would smite
them and they would drag round a seal's head, half a penguin, or a large
lump of frozen meat or blubber to Amundsen's kennel for rent. It was
interesting to watch the big dog play with them, seizing them by throat or
neck in what appeared to be a fierce fashion, while really quite gentle
with them, and all the time teaching them how to hold their own in the
world and putting them up to all the tricks of dog life.

The drift of the Endurance in the grip of the pack continued
without incident of importance through June. Pressure was reported
occasionally, but the ice in the immediate vicinity of the ship remained
firm. The light was now very bad except in the period when the friendly
moon was above the horizon. A faint twilight round about noon of each day
reminded us of the sun, and assisted us in the important work of
exercising the dogs. The care of the teams was our heaviest responsibility
in those days. The movement of the floes was beyond all human control, and
there was nothing to be gained by allowing one's mind to struggle with
the problems of the future, though it was hard to avoid anxiety at times.
The conditioning and training of the dogs seemed essential, whatever fate
might be in store for us, and the teams were taken out by their drivers
whenever the weather permitted. Rivalries arose, as might have been
expected, and on the 15th of the month a great race, the "Antarctic
Derby," took place. It was a notable event. The betting had been heavy,
and every man aboard the ship stood to win or lose on the result of the
contest. Some money had been staked, but the wagers that thrilled were
those involving stores of chocolate and cigarettes. The course had been
laid off from Khyber Pass, at the eastern end of the old lead ahead of the
ship, to a point clear of the jib-boom, a distance of about 700 yds. Five
teams went out in the dim noon twilight, with a zero temperature and an
aurora flickering faintly to the southward. The starting signal was to be
given by the flashing of a light on the meteorological station. I was
appointed starter, Worsley was judge, and James was timekeeper. The
bos'n, with a straw hat added to his usual Antarctic attire, stood on a
box near the winning-post, and was assisted by a couple of shady
characters to shout the odds, which were displayed on a board hung around
his neck6 to 4 on Wild, "evens" on Crean, 2 to 1 against Hurley, 6
to 1 against Macklin, and 8 to 1 against McIlroy. Canvas handkerchiefs
fluttered from an improvised grand stand, and the pups, which had never
seen such strange happenings before, sat round and howled with excitement.
The spectators could not see far in the dim light, but they heard the
shouts of the drivers as the teams approached and greeted the victory of
the favourite with a roar of cheering that must have sounded strange
indeed to any seals or penguins that happened to be in our neighbourhood.
Wild's time was 2 min. 16 sec., or at the rate of 10½ miles per hour
for the course.

We celebrated Midwinter's Day on the 22nd. The twilight extended over
a period of about six hours that day, and there was a good light at noon
from the moon, and also a northern glow with wisps of beautiful pink cloud
along the horizon. A sounding gave 262 fathoms with a mud bottom. No land
was in sight from the mast-head, although our range of vision extended
probably a full degree to the westward. The day was observed as a holiday,
necessary work only being undertaken, and, after the best dinner the cook
could provide, all hands gathered in the Ritz, where speeches, songs, and
toasts occupied the evening. After supper at midnight we sang "God Save
the King" and wished each other all success in the days of sunshine and
effort that lay ahead. At this time the Endurance was making an
unusually rapid drift to the north under the influence of a fresh
southerly to south-westerly breeze. We travelled 39 miles to the north in
five days before a breeze that only once attained the force of a gale and
then for no more than an hour. The absence of strong winds, in comparison
with the almost unceasing winter blizzards of the Ross Sea, was a feature
of the Weddell Sea that impressed itself upon me during the winter months.

Another race took place a few days after the "Derby." The two crack
teams, driven by Hurley and Wild, met in a race from Khyber Pass. Wild's
team, pulling 910 lbs., or 130 lbs. per dog, covered the 700 yds. in 2
min. 9 sec., or at the rate of 11.1 miles per hour. Hurley's team, with
the same load, did the run in 2 min. 16 sec. The race was awarded by the
judge to Hurley owing to Wild failing to "weigh in" correctly. I
happened to be a part of the load on his sledge, and a skid over some new
drift within fifty yards of the winning post resulted in my being left on
the snow. It should be said in justice to the dogs that this accident,
while justifying the disqualification, could not have made any material
difference in the time.

The approach of the returning sun was indicated by beautiful sunrise
glows on the horizon in the early days of July. We had nine hours'
twilight on the 10th, and the northern sky, low to the horizon, was tinted
with gold for about seven hours. Numerous cracks and leads extended in all
directions to within 300 yds. of the ship. Thin wavering black lines close
to the northern horizon were probably distant leads refracted into the
sky. Sounds of moderate pressure came to our ears occasionally, but the
ship was not involved. At midnight on the 11th a crack in the lead ahead
of the Endurance opened out rapidly, and by 2 a.m. was over 200 yds.
wide in places with an area of open water to the south-west. Sounds of
pressure were heard along this lead, which soon closed to a width of about
30 yds. and then froze over. The temperature at that time was 23° Fahr.

The most severe blizzard we had experienced in the Weddell Sea swept
down upon the Endurance on the evening of the 13th, and by
breakfast-time on the following morning the kennels to the windward, or
southern side of the ship were buried under 5 ft. of drift. I gave orders
that no man should venture beyond the kennels. The ship was invisible at a
distance of fifty yards, and it was impossible to preserve one's sense
of direction in the raging wind and suffocating drift. To walk against the
gale was out of the question. Face and eyes became snowed up within two
minutes, and serious frost-bites would have been the penalty of
perseverance. The dogs stayed in their kennels for the most part, the
"old stagers" putting out a paw occasionally in order to keep open a
breathing-hole. By evening the gale had attained a force of 60 or 70 miles
an hour, and the ship was trembling under the attack. But we were snug
enough in our quarters aboard until the morning of the 14th, when all
hands turned out to shovel the snow from deck and kennels. The wind was
still keen and searching, with a temperature of something like 30°
Fahr., and it was necessary for us to be on guard against frost-bite. At
least 100 tons of snow were piled against the bows and port side, where
the weight of the drift had forced the floe downward. The lead ahead had
opened out during the night, cracked the pack from north to south and
frozen over again, adding 300 yds. to the distance between the ship and
"Khyber Pass." The breakdown gang had completed its work by
lunch-time. The gale was then decreasing and the three-days-old moon
showed as a red crescent on the northern horizon. The temperature during
the blizzard had ranged from 21° to 33.5° Fahr. It is usual for
the temperature to rise during a blizzard, and the failure to produce any
Föhn effect of this nature suggested an absence of high land for at least
200 miles to the south and south-west. The weather did not clear until the
16th. We saw then that the appearance of the surrounding pack had been
altered completely by the blizzard. The "island" floe containing the Endurance
still stood fast, but cracks and masses of ice thrown up by pressure could
be seen in all directions. An area of open water was visible on the
horizon to the north, with a water indication in the northern sky.

The ice-pressure, which was indicated by distant rumblings and the
appearance of formidable ridges, was increasingly a cause of anxiety. The
areas of disturbance were gradually approaching the ship. During July 21
we could bear the grinding and crashing of the working floes to the
south-west and west and could see cracks opening, working, and closing
ahead.

"The ice is rafting up to a height of 10 or 15 ft. in places, the
opposing floes are moving against one another at the rate of about 200 yds.
per hour. The noise resembles the roar of heavy, distant surf. Standing on
the stirring ice one can imagine it is disturbed by the breathing and
tossing of a mighty giant below."

Early on the afternoon of the 22nd a 2-ft. crack, running south-west
and north-east for a distance of about two miles, approached to within 35
yds. of the port quarter. I had all the sledges brought aboard and set a
special watch in case it became necessary to get the dogs off the floe in
a hurry. This crack was the result of heavy pressure 300 yds. away on the
port bow, where huge blocks of ice were piled up in wild and threatening
confusion. The pressure at that point was enormous. Blocks weighing many
tons were raised 15 ft. above the level of the floe. I arranged to divide
the night watches with Worsley and Wild, and none of us had much rest. The
ship was shaken by heavy bumps, and we were on the alert to see that no
dogs had fallen into cracks. The morning light showed that our island had
been reduced considerably during the night. Our long months of rest and
safety seemed to be at an end, and a period of stress had begun.

During the following day I had a store of sledging provisions, oil,
matches, and other essentials placed on the upper deck handy to the
starboard quarter boat, so as to be in readiness for a sudden emergency.
The ice was grinding and working steadily to the southward, and in the
evening some large cracks appeared on the port quarter, while a crack
alongside opened out to 15 yds. The blizzard seemed to have set the ice in
strong movement towards the north, and the south-westerly and
west-south-westerly winds that prevailed two days out of three maintained
the drift. I hoped that this would continue unchecked, since our chance of
getting clear of the pack early in the spring appeared to depend upon our
making a good northing. Soundings at this time gave depths of from 186 to
190 fathoms, with a glacial mud bottom. No land was in sight. The light
was improving. A great deal of ice-pressure was heard and observed in all
directions during the 25th, much of it close to the port quarter of the
ship. On the starboard bow huge blocks of ice, weighing many tons and 5
ft. in thickness, were pushed up on the old floe to a height of 15 to 20
ft. The floe that held the Endurance was swung to and fro by the
pressure during the day, but came back to the old bearing before midnight.

"The ice for miles around is much looser. There are numerous cracks
and short leads to the north-east and south-east. Ridges are being forced
up in all directions, and there is a water-sky to the south-east. It would
be a relief to be able to make some effort on our own behalf; but we can
do nothing until the ice releases our ship. If the floes continue to
loosen, we may break out within the next few weeks and resume the fight.
In the meantime the pressure continues, and it is hard to foresee the
outcome. Just before noon to-day (July 26) the top of the sun appeared by
refraction for one minute, seventy-nine days after our last sunset. A few
minutes earlier a small patch of the sun had been thrown up on one of the
black streaks above the horizon. All hands are cheered by the indication
that the end of the winter darkness is near. . . . Clark
finds that with returning daylight the diatoms are again appearing.
His nets and line are stained a pale yellow, and much of the newly formed
ice has also a faint brown or yellow tinge. The diatoms cannot
multiply without light, and the ice formed since February can be
distinguished in the pressure-ridges by its clear blue colour. The older
masses of ice are of a dark earthy brown, dull yellow, or reddish
brown."

The break-up of our floe came suddenly on Sunday, August 1, just one
year after the Endurance left the South-West India Docks on the
voyage to the Far South. The position was lat. 72° 26΄ S., long. 48° 10΄
W. The morning brought a moderate south-westerly gale with heavy snow, and
at 8 a.m., after some warning movements of the ice, the floe cracked 40
yds. off the starboard bow. Two hours later the floe began to break up all
round us under pressure and the ship listed over 10 degrees to starboard.
I had the dogs and sledges brought aboard at once and the gangway hoisted.
The animals behaved well. They came aboard eagerly as though realizing
their danger, and were placed in their quarters on deck without a single
fight occurring. The pressure was cracking the floe rapidly, rafting it
close to the slip and forcing masses of ice beneath the keel. Presently
the Endurance listed heavily to port against the gale, and at the
same time was forced ahead, astern, and sideways several times by the
grinding floes. She received one or two hard nips, but resisted them
without as much as a creak. It looked at one stage as if the ship was to
be made the plaything of successive floes, and I was relieved when she
came to a standstill with a large piece of our old "dock" under the
starboard bilge. I had the boats cleared away ready for lowering, got up
some additional stores, and set a double watch. All hands were warned to
stand by, get what sleep they could, and have their warmest clothing at
hand. Around us lay the ruins of "Dog Town" amid the debris of
pressure-ridges. Some of the little dwellings had been crushed flat
beneath blocks of ice; others had been swallowed and pulverized when the
ice opened beneath them and closed again. It was a sad sight, but my chief
concern just then was the safety of the rudder, which was being attacked
viciously by the ice. We managed to pole away a large lump that had become
jammed between the rudder and the stern-post, but I could see that damage
had been done, though a close examination was not possible that day.

After the ship had come to a standstill in her new position very heavy
pressure was set up. Some of the trenails were started and beams buckled
slightly under the terrific stresses. But the Endurance had been
built to withstand the attacks of the ice, and she lifted bravely as the
floes drove beneath her. The effects of the pressure around us were
awe-inspiring. Mighty blocks of ice, gripped between meeting floes, rose
slowly till they jumped like cherry-stones squeezed between thumb and
finger. The pressure of millions of tons of moving ice was crushing and
smashing inexorably. If the ship was once gripped firmly her fate would be
sealed.

The gale from the south-west blew all night and moderated during the
afternoon of the 2nd to a stiff breeze. The pressure had almost ceased.
Apparently the gale had driven the southern pack down upon us, causing
congestion in our area; the pressure had stopped when the whole of the
pack got into motion. The gale had given us some northing, but it had
dealt the Endurance what might prove to be a severe blow. The
rudder had been driven hard over to starboard and the blade partially torn
away from the rudder-head. Heavy masses of ice were still jammed against
the stern, and it was impossible to ascertain the extent of the damage at
that time. I felt that it would be impossible in any case to effect
repairs in the moving pack. The ship lay steady all night, and the sole
sign of continuing pressure was an occasional slight rumbling shock. We
rigged shelters and kennels for the dogs inboard.

The weather on August 3 was overcast and misty. We had nine hours of
twilight, with good light at noon. There was no land in sight for ten
miles from the mast-head. The pack as far as the eye could reach was in a
condition of chaos, much rafted and consolidated, with very large
pressure-ridges in all directions. At 9 p.m. a rough altitude of Canopus
gave the latitude as 71° 55΄ 17΄΄ S. The drift, therefore, had been
about 37 miles to the north in three days. Four of the poorest dogs were
shot this day. They were suffering severely from worms, and we could not
afford to keep sick dogs under the changed conditions. The sun showed
through the clouds on the northern horizon for an hour on the 4th. There
was no open water to be seen from aloft in any direction. We saw from the
masthead to west-south-west an appearance of barrier, land, or a very long
iceberg, about 20 odd miles away, but the horizon clouded over before we
could determine its nature. We tried twice to make a sounding that day,
but failed on each occasion. The Kelvin machine gave no bottom at the full
length of the line, 370 fathoms. After much labour we made a hole in the
ice near the stern-post large enough for the Lucas machine with a 32-lb.
lead; but this appeared to be too light. The machine stopped at 452
fathoms, leaving us in doubt as to whether bottom had been reached. Then
in heaving up we lost the lead, the thin wire cutting its way into the ice
and snapping. All hands and the carpenter were busy this day making and
placing kennels on the upper deck, and by nightfall all the dogs were
comfortably housed, ready for any weather. The sun showed through the
clouds above the northern horizon for nearly an hour.

The remaining days of August were comparatively uneventful. The ice
around the ship froze firm again and little movement occurred in our
neighbourhood. The training of the dogs, including the puppies, proceeded
actively, and provided exercise as well as occupation. The drift to the
north-west continued steadily. We had bad luck with soundings, the weather
interfering at times and the gear breaking on several occasions, but a big
increase in the depth showed that we had passed over the edge of the
Weddell Sea plateau. A sounding of about 1700 fathoms on August 10 agreed
fairly well with Filchner's 1924 fathoms, 130 miles east of our then
position. An observation at noon of the 8th had given us lat. 71° 23΄
S., long. 49° 13΄ W. Minus temperatures prevailed still, but the
daylight was increasing. We captured a few emperor penguins which were
making their way to the south-west. Ten penguins taken on the 19th were
all in poor condition, and their stomachs contained nothing but stones and
a few cuttle-fish beaks. A sounding on the 17th gave 1676 fathoms, 10
miles west of the charted position of Morell Land. No land could be seen
from the mast-head, and I decided that Morell Land must be added to the
long list of Antarctic islands and continental coasts that on close
investigation have resolved themselves into icebergs. On clear days we
could get an extended view in all directions from the mast-head, and the
line of the pack was broken only by familiar bergs. About one hundred
bergs were in view on a fine day, and they seemed practically the same as
when they started their drift with us nearly seven months earlier. The
scientists wished to inspect some of the neighbouring bergs at close
quarters, but sledge travelling outside the well-trodden area immediately
around the ship proved difficult and occasionally dangerous. On August 20,
for example, Worsley, Hurley, and Greenstreet started off for the Rampart
Berg and got on to a lead of young ice that undulated perilously beneath
their feet. A quick turn saved them.

A wonderful mirage of the Fata Morgana type was visible on August 20.
The day was clear and bright, with a blue sky overhead and some rime
aloft.

"The distant pack is thrown up into towering barrier-like cliffs,
which are reflected in blue lakes and lanes of water at their base. Great
white and golden cities of Oriental appearance at close intervals along
these clifftops indicate distant bergs, some not previously known to us.
Floating above these are wavering violet and creamy lines of still more
remote bergs and pack. The lines rise and fall, tremble, dissipate, and
reappear in an endless transformation scene. The southern pack and bergs,
catching the sun's rays, are golden, but to the north the ice-masses are
purple. Here the bergs assume changing forms, first a castle, then a
balloon just clear of the horizon, that changes swiftly into an immense
mushroom, a mosque, or a cathedral. The principal characteristic is the
vertical lengthening of the object, a small pressure-ridge being given the
appearance of a line of battlements or towering cliffs. The mirage is
produced by refraction and is intensified by the columns of comparatively
warm air rising from several cracks and leads that have opened eight to
twenty miles away north and south."

We noticed this day that a considerable change had taken place in our
position relative to the Rampart Berg. It appeared that a big lead had
opened and that there had been some differential movement of the pack. The
opening movement might presage renewed pressure. A few hours later the dog
teams, returning from exercise, crossed a narrow crack that had appeared
ahead of the ship. This crack opened quickly to 60 ft. and would have
given us trouble if the dogs had been left on the wrong side. It closed on
the 25th and pressure followed in its neighbourhood.

On August 24 we were two miles north of the latitude of Morell's
farthest south, and over 10° of longitude, or more than 200 miles, west
of his position. From the mast-head no land could be seen within twenty
miles, and no land of over 500 ft. altitude could have escaped observation
on our side of long. 52° W. A sounding of 1900 fathoms on August 25 was
further evidence of the non-existence of New South Greenland. There was
some movement of the ice near the ship during the concluding days of the
month. All hands were called out in the night of August 26, sounds of
pressure having been followed by the cracking of the ice alongside the
ship, but the trouble did not develop immediately. Late on the night of
the 31st the ice began to work ahead of the ship and along the port side.
Creaking and groaning of timbers, accompanied by loud snapping sounds fore
and aft, told their story of strain. The pressure continued during the
following day, beams and deck planks occasionally buckling to the strain.
The ponderous floes were grinding against each other under the influence
of wind and current, and our ship seemed to occupy for the time being an
undesirable position near the centre of the disturbance; but she resisted
staunchly and showed no sign of water in the bilges, although she had not
been pumped out for six months. The pack extended to the horizon in every
direction. I calculated that we were 250 miles from the nearest known land
to the westward, and more than 500 miles from the nearest outpost of
civilization, Wilhelmina Bay. I hoped we would not have to undertake a
march across the moving ice-fields. The Endurance we knew to be
stout and true; but no ship ever built by man could live if taken fairly
in the grip of the floes and prevented from rising to the surface of the
grinding ice. These were anxious days. In the early morning of September 2
the ship jumped and shook to the accompaniment of cracks and groans, and
some of the men who had been in the berths hurried on deck. The pressure
eased a little later in the day, when the ice on the port side broke away
from the ship to just abaft the main rigging. The Endurance was
still held aft and at the rudder, and a large mass of ice could be seen
adhering to the port bow, rising to within three feet of the surface. I
wondered if this ice had got its grip by piercing the sheathing.